


Have a Light

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Series: Killers for Hire (SkyeWard AU) [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Killers for Hire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because they needed a morning after that would make up for the last one (aka Skye and Ward make up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a Light

For the record, Skye sleeps pretty soundly through the night, after Grant’s settled down and she can curl up at his side.  She only wakes up when the warm, firm feeling of Grant’s chest beneath her face leaves suddenly, coupled with the mattress springing up beneath her.

She lets out a very eloquent “Hng?” before the sounds of Grant’s retching reach her.

That wakes her up pretty quickly.  Grant vomiting isn’t like, well.  Her vomiting.  She’s got a weak stomach.  She vomits when she’s hungover.  She vomits when she drinks too much.  She vomits and Grant would always hold her hair.  Always.

She jumps out of bed.  For him.  For Grant.

“Grant,” she says.  She’s in the bathroom.  Her knees meet the tile beside his.  She pets his hair.  “Hey,” she whispers, as he vomits out what Skye assumes is the rest of the drugs from last night.  “Hey.  I’m here.”

He shakes with the dry heaves.  He’s clammy and gross but he’s okay.  He’s alive, and if she hadn’t gone after him last night, if she hadn’t been stupid and jealous and-

He’s not vomiting anymore. He pulls back from the toilet, wipes across his mouth the with back of his hand.  And he looks at her.  And she looks at the bandage across his nose.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, gently removing her hand from his shoulder.

He swallows.  “A little better, now,” he says.  He braces himself on the toilet bowl, rises to his feet.

When he shakes a little, she steadies him.  “You’re okay,” she says.  “Go sit on the bed.  I’ll get you some water.”

He reaches for her, but he wiped off his puke with that hand and maybe she doesn’t want him touching her, just yet.  “Skye,” he offers.

“Grant,” she replies.  “Go sit on the bed.  I’ll get you some water.”

He pauses. “You’re not going to go out the window while I wait?” he asks.

“And there’s the Grant Ward I know and love,” she says, before she can think better of it.  Because it’s just a stupid joke, but it has the L word in it, and it’s not like it wasn’t already really fucking weird.

“Skye, come on,” he says.

“Do you really think I’ll leave?” she says.  “Trip’s up and bailed, and you think I’d do that to you, too?”

“Wait,” he says.  “Wait.  Time out.  This is Trip’s hotel room?”

“I mean, yeah,” Skye says.  He’s got questions.  He’s got questions but she’d really prefer to answer them on the bed, and not in the bathroom where he just threw up.  “Grant,” she says.  “Bed.”

He nods.  “Please don’t leave.”

To make a point, she reaches for the glass on the countertop, by the sink.  She turns on the faucet.  “I won’t.”

He leaves the bathroom.  She fills the glass.

And it bothers her, but she really doesn’t think of running.  Not even a little bit.

  
  


He’s sitting with one knee tucked against his chest when she brings him the water.

“I’m trying to piece together last night,” he says, accepting the glass with a steady hand.  His fingers seem to try and latch on to hers, if only for a moment.  “I’ve never let myself get that sloppy.”  He takes a drink.

“It happens,” Skye says.  She sits down on the edge of the bed, keeping a space between their bodies.  “I mean, look at me.”

“Yeah,” he says.  “But you’ve always had me watching your back.”

She’s not sure if that’s supposed to make her feel bad, or not.  He seems too subdued for that.  Too honest.  “Apparently.”

Her tone catches him off guard.  He stiffens.  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, avoiding her gaze. 

“Why were those men after you?” she asks.

He shrugs.  “I dunno, I must’ve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says.  “Trip told me what you’ve been doing.”

He stares at the glass.  “Which is?”

“Someone put a hit on me,” she says.  “Someone big.  And you’ve been trying to fix it all by yourself.”

The water swishes around in the glass, and Skye notes the cuts across his knuckles.  They’ll scar over.  They always do.  “I’m handling it.”

“You should’ve told me,” she says.

Now, he meets her eyes.  “I’m handling it.”  He puts the glass on the nightstand.  “I never wanted you to worry.”

“Right,” Skye says.  “Because getting waterboarded in the basement of a Turkish nightclub is going to help with that.”

“In my defense,” he says.  “I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“Well I wasn’t planning to show up,” she says.  “So there’s that.”

  
  


He gives her a helping of unsteady silence.

She looks at the duvet.  Grant bled on it, a little.  He bled on the sheets, too.  But he’s better now.  He’s better.  “Ask me,” Skye says.

“Ask you what?”

She tugs at the ends of her hair.  “Ask me why I was in Istanbul.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?” he says.

She sighs.  “You’re not going to want me to stay,” she says.  “If I tell you.”

He wraps his fingers around her hand.  Rough skin.  But warm.  Safe.  “You can tell me.”

Her mouth is dry.  So are her lips.  She wets them with her tongue.  She squirms.  “I followed Trip.”

“Oh,” he says.  He still holds her hand.

“I wanted to prove I was over you,” Skye says.  “It was stupid, but-” She has to look him in the eye.  She has to.  And she does, but it hurts.  “I wanted to have sex with him.”

“Did you?” Grant asks.

“He convinced me to go after you, instead,” she says.  “And here we are.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” she asks.  Demands.  “I was literally like, two minutes from sleeping with another guy and you say ‘okay?’”

He stares her down.  She hates his stare.  She hates the inescapability of it.  “You never agreed to be my girlfriend,” he says.  “And we got married by accident. So I can’t tell you who you to sleep with.”

Maybe she’s being vindictive.  Maybe she’s just surprised.  Still, she asks, “Aren’t you jealous?”

He smirks.  “Of course I’m jealous,” he says.  He’s got that edge there, just waiting behind the whites of his eyes.

She’s missed it.

She finds her thumb drifting over his knuckles.  “I’m not going to apologize,” she tells him.

“I’m not expecting you to,” Grant says.

And there’s something about the honesty in it, the way he keeps just fucking staring at her like she’s hung the moon, even now, even after everything, that makes her skin feel small and her heart feel heavy.

She doesn’t deserve it.

“If I really wanted to sleep with him,” Skye says.  “Trip.  If I had really wanted him, I wouldn’t have cared about whether or not you were banging another girl or guy or whatever.”

Grant tilts his head.  She’s surprised him.  “You thought I was-”

“Listen, Trip called me on this and I’m such an-” she runs one hand nervously along her leg.  “I’m such an asshole but like, I figured Trip would either lead me to you or sleep with me.  It was like flipping a coin.  But I wanted to find you.  But I didn’t want to admit it.  But you could’ve died.  Because of me.”  

He shrugs at that.  Like it’s no big deal.  “I would’ve figured it out.”

“You wouldn’t have given me up, though,” Skye says.  It’s not a question.  It’s a fact.  She’s never said anything so true.  “So what was your plan?”

“I was coming up with it,” he says.  “As it went along.”

She squeezes his hand.  “I’m sorry,” she says.  “That they waterboarded you.”

“I thought you weren’t going to say sorry,” he teases.  Idiot.

She curls her lip.  “That was for the Trip thing,” she says.  “Not the waterboard thing.  I know how you feel about-”

“Don’t,” he says.  It’s the first time his voice falters.  “We don’t need to go over that.”

No.  They don’t need to go over his hydrophobia or her sudden and strange honesty or the awkward silences that keep popping up between them.  They don’t need to go over those at all.

  
  


Skye surges forward on the mattress, wraps her arms around Grant’s neck.  She presses her nose to the crook of his neck.

He kisses the top of her head.  “I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head against him.  He’s kind of sweaty, still, and his stubble is uncomfortable against her, but he’s here and she’s here and fuck, she almost really, really ruined this.  “Don’t be,” she mumbles.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he continues.

“I told you to leave,” Skye says, moving her head so that her cheek rests on his shoulder.  “You were just doing what I told you.”

“Which was stupid of me, obviously,” he retorts.  He smiles at her, and it almost works.

“Shut up,” she says.  She’s in his lap.  Correction.  She’s been in his lap, because that’s just how they naturally end up, most of the time.

“I shouldn’t have flushed our wedding rings,” he says.

“You-” she says.  He looks so earnest about it, and she-

She laughs.

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m serious.”  But she can feel him shaking with silent laughter, even as he tries to frown at her.  “Stop laughing,” he demands.

She can’t.

So he swoops down and kisses her, presses her down into the mattress with his body.

“Your nose,” she protests, pulling back.

“Just watch it,” he says.  “Trip set it pretty nicely.”  He tries to kiss her again, and she wiggles.

“You still kind of taste like vomit,” she says. 

Grant blinks down at her.  “Shit,” he says, and the sheepish grin that spreads across his face is not charming or heart-stopping.  “Sorry.”

“And I’m hungry,” Skye says.  “We should go get something to eat.”

“You took all my clothes,” Grant reminds her.

“They were soggy and bloody,” Skye says.  “And we left your underwear on!”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” Grant asks, falling down onto the mattress.  Skye has no choice, really, but to lay under him.  And let him rest his head on her boobs.  Obviously.

“It’s Trip’s hotel room,” Skye says.  “And he probably left for a reason.”

Grant sighs, nuzzles her chest with his cheek.  “But we just got back together.”

Skye pets his hair.  “We can do it in the seedy bathroom of whatever cheap breakfast place we end up at,” Skye says.

Grant looks up at her, unnervingly cute despite his battered face.  “Well.  If you insist.”

“We should find you pants,” Skye says, finally giving Grant a light shove.  He backs up, stands at his full height once he’s off the bed and blocks the ceiling light with his stupid, perfectly shaped head.

“You think Trip left anything?” he asks.

“Check the drawers,” Skye says.

  
  


They find that Trip left them a gun and the receipt for the liquor Skye drank. 

“Typical,” Skye says, shoving the receipt into her pocket.  “You want me to go out and get you clothes?”

Grant shrugs.  “Hand me the gun?  I’ve got a plan.”

She hands him the gun and the keys to his bike.

“Did you drive my bike?” he asks, staring at the keys.  “Who let you drive my bike?”

“You did,” Skye says.  “Since you were literally too fucked up to function.”

“You’re a terrible driver!” Grant says.  “Did you scratch her?”

“You know this is not a great conversation to be having with your wife,” Skye says.  “Married couples share everything.”

He gets the biggest, dopiest grin on his face as he heads for the door.  In his underwear.  “So you married me for my bike, then?”

“And your guns,” Skye notes.

“Of course,” Grant says, turning the knob.

“You wanna put pants on?” Skye says.

“Eh,” Grant replies, and then he’s out in the hallway, grabbing a towel off the housekeeping cart and wrapping it around his waist.  “Do me a favor and unlock the doors on this floor?”

“Ah,” Skye says.  “We’re going shopping.”

“I am going to find some clothes,” Grant says.  “And you’re watching my back.”

“Why do you need the gun, then?” Skye asks.

“Persuasion,” Grant says.

Skye nods in understanding and takes out her phone.

  
  


They don’t pick the best room.  It’s occupied.

So they have to settle that.  It’s nothing but routine, really.  Grant points the gun and orders them onto the bed, gives the whole ‘don’t scream or I’ll shoot’ rhetoric, and hands the gun off to Skye while he finds something to wear. 

The man Grant steals clothes from is at least five inches shorter than Grant is.  Meaning Ward has to wear a tee shirt that stops just under his bellybutton and a pair of jeans that are very tight and end well above his ankles.

But the shoes fit, so that’s a plus.

Skye finds the whole thing kind of silly, really.  Grant gave her the gun so that he could get changed, and obviously they had to tie and gag the room’s inhabitants before they left to buy themselves some time.  That’s not the silly part.  The silly part is how chipper Grant is.  Like, she knows he enjoys this kind of stuff, but this isn’t even the fun kind of high they get post-assassination.

This is something borderline cartoonish.  Grant actually hums as he secures the wrist ties and gags.  “Thank you for the clothes,” he says.  “Your binds aren’t too difficult to get out of, but they’re certainly difficult enough that we’ll be long gone by the time this gets settled.”

Skye glares at the couple over the barrel of the gun.  It is very hard to be intimidating when Grant is wearing such tiny clothes.

“Do you guys know any good breakfast spots?” Skye asks.

“They’re gagged, Skye,” Grant says.

She rolls her eyes.  “I know that, Grant,” she says.

“Oh,” Grant says.  “That was a joke.”

“Very clearly,” Skye says.

“Ah,” Grant says.  He looks down at his outfit.  “My pants are really tight.” 

“I can see that,” Skye says.

“We should probably leave,” Grant notes.

“Probably,” Skye says.  She gives a nod to the couple on the bed.  “Ciao.  Or whatever.”

“We’re in Istanbul,” Grant says.

“I’m going to detach my retinas if I roll my eyes at you again,” Skye says.

“Oh what a tragedy,” Grant says.  “Because you’re such a good shot.”

The man on the bed makes some kind of muffled sound.  Skye takes it to mean “holy crap, leave already,” and he’s got a point.

“Right,” Skye says.  “Sorry.  Bye!”

And they bolt.

  
  


She would press her cheek to his back as he zips through the city on his bike, but the helmet kind of stops that from happening.  She still keeps her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, though.

The thing is, it’s not that she’s a terrible driver.  She’s just not half as good as he is.

She likes letting him drive, though.  Not that he can ever know.  Being his wife is one thing.  Admitting he’s the better driver?

Well.  A girl needed her limits.

He pulls up to his hotel and it’s as seedy and strange as hers.  Actually, it is hers.  Wait.  How did they end up at her hotel?  Grant had taken a left from Trip’s and then gone south and-

Maybe she got distracted.

“We were staying in the same hotel,” Skye says.  “How did we end up in the same hotel?”

“Fate?” Grant asks.  She huffs, and hands him the spare helmet.  “What?” he asks.

“There’s no such thing as fate,” Skye says.

“That romantic side of yours comes out once again,” he says.  “There’s a place to eat up the road, by the way.”

“I know that, stupid,” Skye says.  “This is my hotel.”

“Our hotel,” Grant says.

“We don’t own it,” she tells him.  “Go put grown-up clothes on and meet me down here.  I am so fucking hungry I might go crazy.”

He smirks at her.

She glares.  “If you make a joke about me sucking your dick I will divorce you literally immediately.”

“Nevermind, then,” Grant says.  He pecks her on the lips, and she almost swats at him but remembers his nose.  “I’ll be right back.”

  
  


He is.  And he holds her hand as they walk down the street, like a sap or an idiot or her stupid, stupid husband.

God, she’d been miserable without him.

They sit down at the first place that has promises of tea and toast.  He kisses her hand before she sits down.

“Gross,” Skye tells him.

He doesn’t seem to mind. And he lets her order for them.  Well.  He doesn’t let her do anything.  She wants to order for him, so she does.

“So,” she asks, as the tea is set down in front of them.  “Where are we going for our honeymoon?”

He chuckles into his teacup.  It echoes in a funny, nasally sort of sound.  He takes a sip of hot tea, winces when he realizes it’s too hot, and then sets the glass down  while trying to soothe his tongue.  By sticking it out, of course.  He looks like a dog.  Panting.  Wetting his lips.  Looking at her with the softest, warmest eyes in the whole world.

Okay.  Now the dog comparison is getting weird.

“I’ll add that to the list of reasons why you want to be my wife,” Grant says, when his tongue has finally cooled down.  “You get a vacation out of it.”

“Well I mean, that’s obviously a very large part of it,” she teases.

He takes her hand across the table.  “I love you,” he says.  In public.  With people around.

She swallows.  “Grant,” she says.  Her mouth has gone dry.  “I-”

She feels it.  She has to feel it.  So why can’t she say it?

“It’s okay,” he says, stroking the back of her hand.  “It’s okay.  I know.”

“It’s not okay,” Skye says.  “You flushed our wedding rings because I can’t say it.”

“I flushed our wedding rings because I was pissed,” Grant says.  “It had nothing to do with what you can and can’t say.  I understand.  I do.”

“You  _flushed_ our wedding rings,” Skye says.  They’ve been over this.  “I love you and I almost- You-”

“Skye,” he says.  “It’s okay.”

“Can we get new rings?” she asks.  She asks herself when she got so pathetic, but she’s not really sure.  Or why she can only say ‘I love you,’ when it’s a joke or a plea.  She’s got a lot of questions.

  
  


He smiles softly at her.  “Of course,” he says.

Skye sniffles.  “Can you steal me a ring?” she says.  “Like, from a duchess?  A family heirloom.  Something irreplaceable.”

“So demanding,” Grant says.  “You only married me for my money.”’

“And your cute butt,” Skye says.  He squeezes her hand, and she’d find it cute if her stomach wasn’t growling.  “Is our food taking an unnaturally long time to come out or-”

His eyes widen.  He’s not looking at her.  “Skye, baby,” he says.  She doesn’t even tell him that he’s using the wrong nickname.  “Get under the table.”

She does, but she’s certainly not happy about it.  He joins her a moment later, before knocking the table on it’s side to block the incoming gunfire.  

“So maybe we should stay out of Istanbul for a while?” Grant says.

“Weren’t we supposed to do it in the bathroom?” Skye asks.

Grant shoots her an incredulous look.  “Skye!” he says.  “We are about to die, here.”

“We’re always about to die,” Skye says.  “It’s kind of our thing.”

His smile drowns out even the pounding noise of gunfire.  Well.  Not literally.  But it’s still a nice smile.  She leans forward, pecks him on the cheek.  “I’ll get us out of here,” he tells her.

“We will get out of here just fine,” Skye says.  “We always do.”

He fondly shakes his head.  “I really, really love you,” he says.

“Good,” she says.  “Because you’re stuck with me.”

He laughs to the tune of gunfire.


End file.
